


The Discovery

by fandomfluffandfuck



Series: Show Me The Ropes [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: And It's Just Bucky Having A Time But It's Chill Okay, Body Image, Feminization, Kink Discovery, Lace Panties, Lingerie, M/M, Masturbation, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, More Will Come I swear - Freeform, Panties, Recovery, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Shame, This One Is Mostly Just Bucky And Nat Talking I'm Sorry, body images issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 10:54:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24848608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomfluffandfuck/pseuds/fandomfluffandfuck
Summary: Bucky has been friends with Natasha since he realized he could tolerate any other person's company besides Steve's. He's trying to recover, and has gotten a good ways into the huge, vague goal of "recovery" but what's not on the agenda of his therapists (both for his mind and body) and doctors is this little discovery...It's Natasha's fault really, the discovery.She had wanted another opinion on which pair of recently purchased panties she should wear for Sam and in the process brought panties up in Bucky's mind. Which wouldn't have been a problem to him if he was thinking about panties on some lady (as if he could even think about something like that when he had Steve). No it was a problem because he wants to try panties. Specifically by putting the panties on him. On t̶h̶e̶ ̶a̶s̶s̶e̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶b̶o̶d̶y̶  his body.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson
Series: Show Me The Ropes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797610
Comments: 9
Kudos: 105





	1. Discovering Panties

Bucky likes people-watching, he doesn’t always like crowds but you don’t need a crowd to watch people. The small coffee shop he’s settled in, waiting for Natasha, proves that. 

Steve tells him he liked to watch people back in their first lifetime together while Natasha tells him he likes to watch people because he was a sniper during the war. Bucky doesn’t know who’s right. He does remember between his shifts at the docks sitting and looking at whomever would pass by but he can’t remember if he enjoyed it or not. Perhaps it had just been the lack of a cell phone to suck him into the vast wilderness of the internet, or really any other pass time at all. And, yeah, he also was a sniper during the war, that’s true, but he figures if that was the reason he liked to watch others go about their own lives then it would make him anxious or he’d register some type of information from his surroundings. Right? Now the only information he’s getting is the stuff he makes up.

Like why does that woman have a stroller without a baby? Is she also waiting for someone, if so why does she have the stroller and not the other person with the baby? Is she selling the stroller and waiting for the buyer to show, Steve had told him people do that- post things for sale on the internet then meet up with the buyer? If that’s it why doesn’t she need it? Did her baby die? No- he looks at her, her face is too, too. Too kind- he decides, she’s too kind looking. Her kid(s) are just too old to need a stroller, perhaps they’ve just grown out of it or it’s been a long time and she’s only now letting it go. 

Another patron opens the door that functions as both the entrance and exit of the cafe, air billows in with them. Sweeping a couple of napkins onto the floor on the most near table. It makes Bucky think about flying… he smiles, inwardly, to himself. 

Right now sitting in the furthest corner from the exit he doesn’t feel anxious or bad or like he’s living in suspense. He’s checked the way his therapist has taught him. It’s a good skill, he’s used it a lot since ‘waking up’. Again, that’s something Steve’s given him- taught him really. It's just something more they have in common, Steve woke up from the ice while Bucky woke up from his mind control. Bucky likes that better than the other terms his doctors have come up with but then again he does seem to like anything Steve does more than he likes most things. So it’s possible it’s that too…

Either way it’s not the blank but warm feeling contentedness he recalls with the earlier memory of being overworked at the docks but it’s also not the head swiveling calm but unsettled storm of emotion he felt when looking through his scope. Certainly it’s not the freezing blank storm of nothingness he felt when stalking targets as the asset, which, here in this cafe he’s realizing took the worst parts of what Steve and Natasha had figured about his behavior and combined them. 

He leans back in his chair, listening to the soft squeak it gives and drumming his fingers over the table in apology. He’s sorry, this chair wasn’t built for his weight. Both in physical mass and emotional burden. 

He tries again, half watching the newcomer (who’s not Natasha- she’s late by now), to untangle the emotions he has while looking at the other people. 

This is not the same way he felt the first weeks of clarity he had. He’s not swimming through syrup thick confusion that’s blurred by outbursts of tears or anger. 

Doctors had all told him and Steve- mostly Steve, they had talked to Steve like Bucky was a child who had been misbehaving but was def so they could speak about him with him in the same room -about it being his survival instincts. He hadn’t been allowed to express those emotions so now they were going to spill out of him without his control and sporting their own vengeance. He wouldn’t be able to help feeling on edge in a new environment because in the past new things have proven to be deadly, either for the asset or his target. They had all said he, “this James”, was wildly trying to adjust and so he would feel off kilter for some time. 

He was okay, he had been through lots and nothing would seem normal but with other similar (meaning not similar but the closest cases they could find to him) things people had acted this way so it’s normal for him to be the way he was. 

Bucky really only liked when Steve called him “‘this Bucky” (he liked the nickname now more than he recalls… probably because his mother and then hydra were the last to refer to him as James but that’s beside the point). It was likely he only can tolerate Steve saying it, he figures, because when explaining to him why he had said that to Bucky the first time he’d taken his hand, the metal one, in his and looked him in the eyes (which had been confusing because no one looked the asset in the eyes. It was too dangerous to do.) stating simply “I’m different too, Buck, you can see all those old photographs in books or wherever and see me but I’m not that guy anymore. I’m this me, this new version. In this year and this time. You’re not the Bucky I grew up with, you’re this Bucky. My Bucky… uhm, if you don’t mind.” 

Bucky hadn’t minded as it turned out, without his brain doing anything he’d smiled. Really smiled. It had been thoughtless and easy like he figured it must be for regular people who hadn’t been told they didn’t get to have emotions because they were a machine. It had just happened.

Steve had looked at him and his smile and cried. 

Like heavy crying in a way that Bucky was familiar with, unfortunately familiar, he didn’t want to know a Steve who cried more than a Steve who smiled and gave orders to others. Bucky hadn’t known what to do until his body found some deep rooted leftover emotional comfort instinct, it had sprouted in the very depths of his mind where he wasn’t sure he had access anymore, like a sliver of a root system of pulled weed regrowing and popping back up. He stepped into Steve’s personal face and hugged him. 

Really he had opened his arms and Steve had done the rest but it had still been a hug. One he himself had initiated. It made Steve cry harder but eventually he did stop. By the time Steve had stopped crying into his chest he recognized the familiarness of his tears, they had done this when Sarah Rogers had died. 

Given it had been the tiny corner Sarah’s apartment where he had cradled an equally tiny Steve who he feared would push himself into an asthma attack with his crying but still he remembered. He told Steve because Steve asked him to say it, he’d looked at Bucky with red rimmed eyes and had said he knew that look. He knew Bucky had realized something. Bucky had felt better with the band aid of Steve’s ability to read him so easily over the sudden hole in his chest. So he’d said it, as gentle as he could with the asset still listening quietly in the back of his mind behind a very very thin wall. Steve hadn’t minded.

“James” he startles as much as his forged nerves of steel will let him, which is enough for Natasha to be able to tell but only through his eyes. Bucky’s body doesn’t betray his inner monologue, just his face. 

Natasha throws him a look that’s apologetic and knowing, “having a nice time collecting your fill of information about the people here?” 

Bucky nods because that’s a much easier thing to do than to explain to her that he really was telling himself stories that might be more fit for a sleepy toddler than a full grown ex-assassin. He apparently hadn’t been as vigilant as he thought he was being if she’d managed to sneak up on him, but… she also was like a triple, maybe even quadrupel, agent so it wasn’t that outlandish that she’d managed it. She smiles at him and Bucky feels a stab of pride strangely enough. He’d managed to stop paying attention to his surroundings so much he’d been snuck up on and he wasn’t that scared. He smiles back. 

Natasha sets another cup of, presumidly, coffee down in front of him. His hands metal and flesh alike wrap the cup up protectively, abandoning his first. He offers his thanks to her, seeing that young girl from the red room in her for a moment, she waves him off chuckling to herself about how he has like seventy years of coffee drinking to try and catch up on so it’s the least she can do. She lifts her own drink and then her eyebrow.

“Are you ready to go now or is there someone interesting enough you want to stay and watch, after you point them out to me of course?” Bucky knows there isn’t anyone like that here but he pretends to think about it anyway. Allowing his flesh hand to pick up his old cup in apology as he rises from his poor unsuspecting seat to throw it away. It was a good cup. Doing all he could ask it to. 

“Nah, don’t think there’s anyone your type here Romanov,” Bucky let’s his tongue teasingly drawl.

“Ha ha,” she shoots back over her shoulder as she leads them to the exit. “Tower?”

“Tower.” Bucky conferms, he’s had enough of the outside world for today. He’d been by himself roaming around for an hour and a half before Natasha had asked him if he wanted coffee. He knew she was really asking him if he wanted company in the crowds he doesn’t find much comfort in but let himself sound ignorant to her ploy. He’d heard Steve ask Nat the other morning to keep him company while he was on the four day mission Fury demanded he attend. Sam was also being told to go so that would leave Natasha without her boyfriend as well so it just made sense. 

It wasn’t the first mission he’d gone on since Bucky had been back with him, it wasn’t even the longest, but it was the first since Bucky had mentioned he still felt like his body was the asset’s rather than his own. 

And Bucky had been thinking about that for a long while and had come to the conclusion of what does it matter? He was the asset, kind of, they share the same features so why wouldn’t he see the asset in himself?

Steve had shared that notion. 

He had looked horrified but- bless him -had tried his hardest to hide it, asking if Bucky had told anyone else that. Bucky hadn’t, still hasn’t even though he promised him he’d tell it to his therapist… he will. He’s got another appointment with her tomorrow he just wasn’t ready last time. 

Nat puts her arm through his, linking them together and smiling sharply, “what are you thinking about? Is it Steve?”

Bucky groans just for affect. The walk back to the tower is going to be long.

\- - -

Natasha instists while they stand in the Avengers Tower elevator that he comes back to her and Sam’s shared floor rather than his and Steve’s. Figuring he’ll go along with her plan because he’s got nothing better to do than find out what strange activity she had in mind for him he agrees. Raising his half emptied coffee cup in solute. 

She grins in a way that would spook him if it made it’s home on anyone else’s face but it’s Natasha so he just nods back. Again she hooks their arms together like they’re in that very bizarre and yet interesting movie Tony had insisted they watch on behalf of the team’s “grandpa’s” as a bonding activity. “Wizard of” something is all he recalls of the title but in his head he can see the sharp colors of the last half of the movie. He knew it was meant to look old fashion but he didn’t think the saturation of colors could’ve ever really been that bad. He did remember seeing “Snow White” back before the war with Steve and it was not like that… well, maybe it was. He did spend most of the movie looking at Steve. Steve had wanted to see it for a look into what Disney was doing with their art then, or so he had claimed that as his motivation. Bucky wouldn’t have minded if he’d just come out and said he wanted to see the fairytale movie…

“Jarvis, could you put on some music? Not too loud please.” Natasha’s voice rings out into the living room as she passes it on her way to the kitchen. JARVIS compiles and some soft voiceless music that sounds like an intense lullaby beings. Bucky likes it, it’s nice. Comforting as a lullaby should be. 

From the kitchen Natasha asks if he wants anything to eat, her head popping out around the corner to stare at him. The glare isn’t all that convincing, not when she’s got a cookie in her mouth. Bucky’s chest warms, this is what that young girl should’ve been. 

She stares at him some more when he doesn’t answer so Bucky just requests a cookie like the one she’s eating. She nods, mock serious. When she returns she has two more cookies in one of her hands for herself, the other has his. He takes it when it’s offered.

“What am I here for,” he bites into a cookie, humming softly at the taste. Homemade. “Besides cookies?” 

Nat laughs through one of her own, somehow not choking on the food in a vaguely frightening way, “you have to wait for that. I don’t want crumbs on what I want to show you.” 

“ ‘Kay, why did you grab so many cookies then?” 

“ ‘Cause they’re good.” Natasha’s face is smug and, okay, that is pretty fair. They are good.

“Did Sam make them cause you..?” Bucky begins to drawl out the mild insult but is cut short by Natasha gathering some crumbs in a palm and raising it over his metal arm, an eyebrow raised in a challenge. Bucky does not want to have to sit with Stark for an hour just to get crumbs out of his arm, “seriously? Did he?” He bats away her palm and crumbs.

“No, Sam’s mom, who refuses to give the recipe to anyone unless it’s through her will. Which, I kinda have to admire.” 

Bucky nods, “pretty badass”, trying to imagine what Sam’s mom must look like, what she’d act like too. Comfortable silence stretches between them, Bucky with his thoughts and Natasha chewing her crumbs as well as actual solid food.  
She stands without using her hands for support, silent and elegant as usual. She throws him a look that says ‘stay’ right before she disappears from his vision and yeah, like he’s gonna do anything but that, what else would he do? Go sulk by himself because Steve’s not here? No. 

Natasha returns with a sleek black bag that has equally dark black silk ribbons for handles, it’s obviously meant to be discreet but it’s failing because of it’s expensive appearance. It’s too eye catching to be stealthy. The bag reminds him of Natasha, he smirks. 

She mirrors his expression, “so you know what this bag is for then? You’re more with the times than I thought then, but-” she sighs dramatically setting herself gracefully down next to Bucky on the couch. “I don’t blame you” her smirk turns more wolfish as she pulls some black tissue paper out of the bag while plainly giving him a once over, “you would look nice in these I bet.” 

Bucky looses all his cool at the comment just after it’s made because as she’s making it she’s pulling out a tiny fucking scrap of lacy fabric. Before he can stop himself he’s choking out a “what?!” with wide eyes. Natasha bursts out in laughter at his outburst, like a full on grabbing her sides and wheezing fit of laughter. 

Once she regains her control she calmly explains she wants him to pick which pair of her new underwear, her panties, she should wear to knock the socks off of Sam when he gets back. Personally she admits she can’t decide because she adores all three of them. One by one she pulls them out for him to examine. Offhandedly asking him if women would have worn anything like these back in his day before telling him nevermind and chuckling at how he probably didn’t know because he would have been too busy gazing into Steve’s eyes.

He takes the first pair from her, carefully, they look so… so fragile. He worries he might break them if he so much as tenses with them in his hands. This pair is a white opaque shiny material with panels that are cut out on the sides and have transparent lace instead. The fabric barely would cover anything, the sides being only two fingers thick and the back three. His fingers explore more confidently as Nat tells him he is allowed to touch them snarkily. The fabric is decadent; he can’t not ask what they’re made of before he answers her probably rhetorical question. 

“Satin and lace” she retorts, almost proud. He knows if he looks up her face will be smug so he cuts back at her first.

“I know what lace is… Uhm,” he sets the panties back down between them. “No, women wore, well, you could get stuff like this back then. They’d have more, err, fabric overall. Cover more, y’know? It just wasn’t everyday wear and it was too expensive for anyone I was around- both in Brooklyn and in the army.” Bucky levels his eyes with Natasha’s and finds interest in hers.

“Didn’t think about that, didn’t they also have to wear a lot more than just panties and a bra too?” Bucky nods, surprised to not feel himself blushing all that much. Or he’s just completely blushing and is suddenly immune to the heat in his cheeks. 

“Yeah, panties- well, I think they’d be the same as step-ins? They look the same other than the fabric stuff. There were also stockings, garter belts or girdles, and brassieres. Sometimes a mid-thigh slips over those things too.”

“Jesus- here.” She hands him another pair of panites, these ones are the same shape as the last but are completely sheer everywhere except for the bottom. Instead of being white though these are navy blue and the sheer lace, the others were lace, doesn’t have the flowery patterns in it. These just have little squares of thread without pretty things to conceal them. “These ones are lace too, french lace, if you really wanna be specific. Though unless you’re gonna purchase some for Steve, or yourself, you probably don’t care.”

Bucky’s chuckle feels hollow in his chest. It echoes through his own head just as Nat’s words do. Could he wear something like these? They’re so flimsy, and, and innocent. Even though he feels kind of dirty holding them. He tries to brush her comment off when he puts the panties on top of the others where they’re resting on the couch. 

He’s handed another practically immediately as the second pair is gone. 

With these he has to suppress a shiver. 

These almost look like super tight boxer briefs, just without somewhere for someone’s dick to go, which makes sense. Most people who are wearing these likely don't have a penis. These are black and have the flowery pattern back that the first had but not satin or solid fabric anywhere on them, the closest thing to it they have is the seam that runs up the middle of the butt and crotch. 

Natasha notices because of course she does, “so I take it that you like these the best?” 

“Yeah” he croaks out, handing them back and hoping the curiosity he has with them goes away too. “Are these things you wear all the time?” He hopes his intense pull to the fancy fabric is able to be disguised as confusion with the future. 

“No, the kind I wear day to day, well, I mean-” Bucky tilts his head to the side as she thinks aloud, “I don’t mind but would you if I went and grabbed a pair of my usual panties. Meaning one’s that aren’t new, one’s that I’ve worn before?”

“If they're clean, sure.”

She scoffs, “I may not have personal boundaries Barnes but I am not an animal.”  
He snorts, “you sure?” Throwing his voice towards where she’s disappearing again despite staring directly at the panties he’s been left alone with. His nose wrinkles when he thinks about how delicate they are in relation to that if Sam will break them when he sees Natasha in them.

A noise punches itself out of his nose when he thinks if Steve would rip them off of him if he wore something like that. His dick twitches in his pants, making itself known. And even though there is no way Natasha heard that from her room he wants to suck the sound back into himself. It was a soft noise.  
The fabric is soft. 

He wants to be soft. The a̶s̶s̶e̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶b̶o̶d̶y̶ Bucky’s body isn’t soft. He’s rough, his scars are like sharp edges he’s afraid will hurt Steve even though he knows the serum wouldn’t let him really permanently hurt Steve. 

Natasha comes back with the panties dangling on one of her fingers like she’s just stolen them. They don’t have any lace, just opaque fabric. They’re plain, still featuring much less coverage then they would have before the war and still soft. He nods exaggeratedly, shifting discreetly while Natasha trades the pair in her hands for the small pile of them that were keeping him company.


	2. Thinking Of Panties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky really really really wants to be able to wear panties.

It exercises most all of Bucky’s long honed patience to sit through the rest of Nat’s conversation before returning to his and Steve’s floor in the tower. It’s not that he doesn’t like talking to Natasha, it’s just immensely difficult to focus on her or, god forbid, participate in the act of talking when his own internal monologue is raging on with confusing concepts. 

Was Nat joking about him or Steve in these kinds of underwear? She must’ve been right? Even now, in this new time, that would have to be inappropriate right? Do they make these kinds of things with men in mind? Why doesn’t he want to see Steve in these? Or any other lady for that matter?

Why does he just want to keep touching them? 

Why does he want to wear them?

His thoughts feel like a thunderstorm in his head and he finds himself taking measured deep breaths in the elevator- the way his first therapist taught him -in order to not literally run into the bedroom. 

Instead Bucky forces himself to walk through the entryway and dump his shoes and coat before gathering his laptop and it’s charger and doing the metaphorical walk of shame into the extra bedroom they have that he used when he was still mostly the asset and entirely fearful of accidentally killing Steve. He’s locked himself in the room before, for the aforementioned reason. 

Though this time he locks himself in the room because he’s a little afraid of what he might say or do. 

Bucky dumps himself on the bed along with his gathered treasures, he buries his flushing face in the sheets when he recalls the noise he made in Natasha’s apartment. His hips squirm on the bed- what if he made that noise while in the panties and Steve heard him? Would he think Bucky’s weak? Pitiful?

No- Steve would probably make him explain to him why he made that noise then make him do it over and over and over again. 

Bucky involuntarily gasps into the bed when his body makes his hips drag against the firm mattress at his own thoughts. 

Faintly he smirks at the shallowly planned thought of what his doctor’s would say to knowing his intrusive thoughts from the asset having been sort of replaced with dirty, filthy ideas. The expression is certainly wiped from his face when he connects Steve’s recent behavior to that of before the war. Steve has always loved the noises he makes in bed, before- when they couldn’t make any noise for fear of being caught Steve would repeat his actions again and again until the same sound came out of Bucky but the when it happened that time Steve would’ve leaned over him to hear it as clear as he could with his shot ears. Now it was a probable mix of the luxury of being able to be as loud as they wanted (bless Stark’s invention of sound-proofing that could be turned on and off) and Steve finally being able to enjoy his enhanced hearing. 

Yeah- if he made that noise Steve would make sure it turned into a night where Bucky didn’t know anything but his own delirium from Steve demanding him to give him every noise. And performing every act he could tirelessly to draw them out. 

Steve reads Bucky like a book and plays him like an instrument. 

Though Bucky isn’t too sure Steve would do that if he injects this new curiosity f̶a̶n̶t̶a̶s̶t̶y̶?̶ into their dynamic, his mind feels like swiss-cheese. Most of him is logical enough to understand that Steve will be okay with him forever and always (so long as he’s him) but… years of not being able to occupy his own mind have shot holes in his confidence. 

Maybe it’s shot holes in his body too because by the time he’s peeled himself off of his front and placed himself sitting-up against the headboard he isn’t so sure this is a great idea. Sure, the men on his screen (he had just hoped google would understand when he typed in “men in women’s underwear”) have anywhere from similar amounts of muscle to almost none comparatively but still… they don’t have weaponized synthetic limbs, or, realistically- any scars at all. They all are whole. They don’t have pieces missing. There isn’t any evidence that they’ve ever had chunks literally or metaphorically carved out of them to willingly or (more often) unwillingly please those around them.

Bucky itches to shut his laptop’s lid shut, to turn it off and never speak to anyone about any of this in any form ever, to go and find something else to occupy his time so he never will even think of this idea again. He just doesn't want to disappoint himself. He sure as hell doesn’t want to disappoint Steve. 

Not that he’ll show Steve himself like this, not ever, but he knows if he did Steve would make sure to inspect him. And, yes, it would be with good (well- maybe more like sinful) intentions at first but Bucky knows he would then see his scars and rough edges. Like really see them. They’d be on displ-

Bucky wants to be on display, his cock starts to chub up again, he wants to be good enough for display. 

Steve sometimes, when he’s feeling filthy, will whisper (more like growl) into Bucky’s ear about how he looks “good enough to eat”. And it, without fail, sets Bucky’s insides on fire. He keeps scrolling. He wants this. 

Bucky opens an image that has the for sale underwear on a mannequin rather than a human model and follows the links until he finds the original website. He breathes an entire lungful of air out in a sigh of relief when the rest of the online store has their stuff on display the same way. 

Oh- oh, they don’t just have underwear. It’s not just panties. 

God, he groans softly to himself. Just that word is making him harder. 

They have so much more than panties. 

All the mannequins are modeled after men from either the waist down or the waist up but they never have faces or limbs beyond the beginning of the shape. Bucky whimpers to himself as he scrolls, all of these are so pretty. He shivers, thinking about how soft they all must be. 

He’s no longer intermittently whimpering and shivering by the time he finds them. He’s trembling at a speed that probably makes him look like he’s vibrating in place and he’s whining, high in the back of his throat. His own noise grows much more desperate, more feminine when he expands the image. 

They are gorgeous. Pale blue and soft, not harsh. Not the sharp blue of his own eyes that everyone seems to like but describe as harsh things- he doesn’t like those words in relation to himself. These are like whispered blue and by the amount of white mannequin surface he can see through the fabric he figures they’d probably feel like a whisper on his skin. They look mostly like normal boxer briefs. Just special. Pretty. Meant for display, meant for something- someone -special. 

The lace is flowers and leaves and soft and breathtaking. 

His laptop is shoved somewhere off to the side, he doesn’t care where it goes. It may land on the floor but he doesn’t care. He just- he wants. He wants to be worthy of those. To be soft, delicate, and to be something worth looking at. 

He moans when he imagines the way Steve would look at him then. Hungry. 

He fists his cock thinking about how he’d look in those. Thinking about what it would feel like, what it is gonna look like. How Steve might look at him, how he might talk to him, how he might treat him. 

Bucky wails, his gut burning and spilling over with hot shame and even hotter arousal. His eyes water with the power of his orgasm, toes curling, back arching. He’s barely breathing, high off of oxygen deprivation. High off of the imaginary Steve growling about how pretty he is while he pounds him into the fucking mattress. Maybe into the wall or the window. Maybe all of them at different increments, cumming into Bucky in each location without letting him so that he cries and collapses by the time he does get to cum. Licking tears off of his face and chuckling, praising him for being so gorgeous. So pretty. 

His chest is heaving. He’s panting wetly. His head has been thrown to the right where the door to enter the room is. Bucky shuts his eyes, swallowing against his dry throat as his hand plays a little with his oversensitive cock for a moment- reveling in the sharp hot spikes of too much before he relaxes completely. 

Okay, so, panties… he might need to order some of those. He might wear them, well, he's definitely going to wear them for himself and possibly… possibly wear them for Steve. 

Bucky hops up to locate his credit card and some water with a renewed vigor. By the time he returns to his laptop he’s already completely hard again (bless the serum) and entirely sure he will buy himself some “men’s panties” at least one pair if not more.


End file.
